He looked up when Cherry walked in the front door. “Sorry. I was just drying her off. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“You’re not in my hair.” Cherry stomped her feet and leaned over to unlace her snow boots. Stevie broke away from Tom to sniff at Cherry’s legs and headbutt her cheeks. “Hi,” Cherry said to her. “I know. You’re always so concerned.” Stevie nosed at her face. “You don’t like it when I’m upside down, do you?”
Tom laid the towel over the kennel.
“The garage looks great,” Cherry said.
He nodded. “All that’s really left is the closets and, uh... the bedroom.”
“Oh.” Cherry stood up. The blood rushed from her head.
Tom’s face was tense. Unreadable. “You can just pack my things if you want.”
“No. Just... give me a few days to straighten up.”
“Sure.” Tom was moving past Cherry toward the door.
“How was Los Angeles?”
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll just get out of your hair.” He was halfway out already. “See ya.”
“See ya.” Cherry stepped out of her boots.
There was no way to clean or straighten or prepare their bedroom for Tom to walk back into it.
Like, Cherry couldn’t put enough of herselfaway.
It made her skin crawl to imagine Tom in here, seeing her jewelry and face creams. Looking at their bed. Maybe sheshouldjust pack his things... and get it over with.
She opened the top drawer of Tom’s dresser. She’d never looked through his drawers, even when they were together. He kept socks in here. Boxer shorts. Ties he never wore. A little Mickey Mouse watch that his mother had given him, stored in an acrylic box.
Cherry felt sick and tried to slam the drawer shut. It got stuck. She rammed it closed, catching her little finger, and yelped.
A minute or two later, while Cherry was sniffling and still rubbing her hand, Stevie shuffled into the room. The baby gate was open all the time now that Stevie could manage the stairs—and now that she was allowed to sleep in the bed. Cherry had surrendered to having dog hair all over every inch of the house.
Stevie sniffed at Cherry’s stomach and headbutted her thighs. Cherry held on to the dresser so the dog could shove through her legs. “Are you here to rescue me?”
Stevie didn’t like it when Cherry shouted or cried out. (She used to bark from downstairs if Cherry was being too noisy during sex.) Cherry tried to think of a situation where Stevie’s gentle mauling might actually rescue her... Maybe if she fell asleep in the bath, Stevie could rouse her.
Cherry leaned over to rub the dog’s flank. “You’re not very helpful, but you’re very sincere.”
Stevie looked up into Cherry’s eyes, as intent and person-like as ever. Like someone in a fairy tale trapped in an animal’s body.
Cherry sighed. “God, Stevie, I feel like you’re going to spend your whole life trying to tell me something, and I’m never going to know what.”
The cold settled in. Cherry went to get her goose-down coat out of the hall closet and realized that all Tom’s coats and boots were gone, and all of his scarves and wool hats. Would he need them in California?
He’d left the umbrellas.
Russ called. Not all the time. Three times over as many weeks. He texted Cherry:“I’d really like to talk to you. I’d really like to see you.”
“Not yet,”Cherry texted back.
She missed him. She was still angry with him. But those feelings had soaked into Cherry’s larger feelings of loneliness and anger. They didn’t feel specific to Russ at the moment. When she thought about him, she sat up taller, like she was trying to pull herself tight.
“Are you mad at me?”Stacia texted.
“No.”
